Days to Dust
by ineffablediann
Summary: John and Sherlock get caught in a massive life changing disaster. I promise that there is a happy-ever-after.


This is dedicated to the wonderful unknown person I spent an evening exchanging words with to spin this delicious and thrilling work. They prompted almost immediately with DISASTER!LOCK and the very first two paragraphs that you will read, from there the give and take began. There were minimal changes, namely small edits for flow (read one). Ninety-nine point eight percent is just from the give and take of the RP.

My heartfelt thanks to this person. I hope to re-connect one day.

They had already been trapped in the rubble for several minutes as the dust began settling and most likely would have to wait several hours for rescue. If they were to be rescued alive at all, that was. The explosion had been unexpected and had happened all too quickly to make any sort of escape attempt. They had a heartbeat from the time Sherlock's eyes widened with realization until the detonation to take any action at all. "John! DOWN!" ...of course it would be too late.

Sherlock shielded John with his own body, tackling him around the waist as the ceiling crumbled. Thanks to the angle they'd hit the ground, they were still alive. Not even a third of a meter directly to their left was a support beam. They'd been as lucky as two people trapped in an explosion could be, trapped in a pocket in the debris instead of being instantly crushed. Smoke was thick and breathing was difficult. Sherlock, lying heavily on top of John, was not moving.

John came around, breathing terribly difficult... it reminded him of the demo's that'd happened close to him when they were out scouting. He tried to open his eyes, but they stung, definitely debris in the air then. He felt something on top of him, but it didn't seem to be that heavy... where was... "Sherlock?" John asked. Please, please let it be him... alive.

"John," came the barest of whispers from just above him. The weakest voice the detective had ever possessed and the weakest he had ever felt. His pulse felt like hammers beating against his skull in an uneven rhythm. He knew he was bleeding. He knew he wouldn't be conscious for much longer, having drifted in and out for the past few minutes.

"Sher- are you injured?" Thank god for small favors. "Try not to move alright... let things settle."

"Yes," he replied truthfully, letting out a slow breath and coughing afterwards. Deep, wracking coughs that sounded just as painful as they were. Sherlock fought himself to keep from letting out a noise of pain.

"Ok, ok... It's alright Sherlock..." John knew he had enough room to move, thought he might be able to access Sherlock. Preparing for the worst, John closes his eyes and says a small prayer they make it out. "I'm going to move now alright... let me do the work... try not to move."

"Okay," he replied briefly, not trusting his voice enough to say more. Breathing and lying still were his two areas of focus at the moment. His optimism on them being rescued alive was slowly dwindling.

John moved achingly slow, Sherlock was groaning obviously trying not to alarm him... he must've forgotten everything he's witnessed. As he gets free he rolls onto his side pulling his mobile from his pocket. The screen was cracked badly, but still functional. "Ok, I'm going to call Mycroft and leave the line open." He placed it through the emergency screen so it would take longer to drain his battery. "Sherlock, can you move at all. Do not lie. I need to know truth right now... it's ok. I'm here."

"I d...don't think...there's spinal damage," he replied, trembling with the pain he felt. He could definitely still wiggle his toes and move his arms, however...he buried his face in the fabric of his coat sleeve and screamed into it to muffle it when he moved the wrong way and nothing but white-hot pain lanced through his chest and arm. Apparently something was broken. Several somethings.

"Stop moving. Don't need to puncture something alright." John rested a hand in Sherlock's curls. "I'm going to just skim over you alright?" He realised as he began to move his hand over Sherlock that there was someone yelling at them... his mobile had gotten through. "Stop. Sherlock is injured as I'm sure you heard. We have about the space of out kitchen. Air does not seem to be a problem yet, so there are either gullies or pockets. Get here. Now." He went back to ignoring whoever was on the other end. "Sherlock? Can you just stay like that?" John unbuttoned his shirt and rolled it quickly, placing it under Sherlock's head.

"Do I have another choice?" John's hand found patches of damp here and there. Blood from superficial cuts. Blood from a rather angry cut on his head that was bleeding freely. His arm definitely looked broken and going by the way he was wheezing for air, there was something going wrong there as well.

"Just slow steady breaths, yea. They'll be here. It'll take a bit to get us, but they know where we are." John was sorry for the arm, but it should set properly. "Do you have a biro in your pockets? Matches? The usual?"

"Yes," Sherlock rasped. "Coat...s...side pockets...not quite a good time...to start a blog entry..." As long as he could show snark, Sherlock would. It was a good gauge as to how he was faring.

"Oh, yes... I'll just tweet this shall I?" Gallows humour was their bread and butter it seemed. He pulled his own swiss-army knife, dug into the pocket and retrieved the other things as well as a pack of gum and a handkerchief. "Good... this is good." He put the handkerchief in his trouser pocket, took off his shirt, turned it inside out then folded it in half before putting it beside him with the other found things. Finally, he got back to his mobile. "Mycroft? Yea, it's not terrible, but not great. You've got our GPS co-ords, yea? Alright I'm hanging up then and putting into flight mode. Goodbye." John disconnected the call. "Sherlock... they say it's going to be a bit... going to be a rough go..." John pulled his hands through the dusty curls. "I'm here... God I am sorry..."

"What... have you got... to be sorry about?" Sherlock started coughing again, resisting the urge to curl up in a foetal ball and moan in pain. Instead, he was trying to take in slow breaths and wait for the pain to abate. When it didn't, he angled his head back and tried to take in more air, breathing calmly to keep from crying out. "This...this is...my fault. Should have...seen the...explosives...I..." He couldn't speak any more, only panting and wheezing, trying not to move at all. He didn't like the tone of John's voice when he was apologizing like that...he didn't ever want to hear that directed at him again.

"Don't move... please, Sherlock. You've got to listen. Your air is going to be restricted... if it gets too bad... we'll worry about it then I suppose." John laid down on his right side beside Sherlock so he could look him in the eye. "This is going to be horrible before it gets better I think. I want you to know... I will not allow us to be crushed. Do you understand?"

With his good hand, Sherlock went against advice and moved, reaching until he could brush cold fingers against John's hand. Just to touch. Just to ground himself. Just to let John know that he did understand but that speaking had become too difficult to attempt and breathing was so much effort...he gave a little pinch of a squeeze before shutting his eyes. It wasn't going to get any better.

"Good. I'm here... Look, I'm not... I love you. Sherlock, I love you. You can make it, but..." John sighed. "You're going to feel like you are drowning. That's normal, not good, but expected." He took Sherlock's hand and folded his warm fingers around it. "When it get's really bad, I'm going to puncture the sac and drain it through the hollow of the biro... you're going to pass out, but I'll be right here when you wake up, alright?"

Three words got Sherlock to open his eyes again and look at John. Really look at him. Nothing else mattered in the moment but their hands together, Sherlock's flexing against John's just to let him know that he understood. Still...he was rather determined not to pass out no matter how hazy he got. No matter how difficult it became...no matter how much his body demanded the impossible from him. His hand squeezed John's for dear life.

"Shh... I know, Sherlock. Save your strength..."John kissed him gently tasting blood and grit and not giving a damn. "I know. Relax... I'll not let go until I have to." Kissing him again, he let himself drift for a moment, ignore everything around them... "Look close your eyes, yea. We're back at the flat... it's a quiet afternoon..."

Another squeeze. He was trying to visualise. Trying to distance himself from his transport even though he was starting to feel the sensation of drowning. No matter how much air he took in, it wasn't enough. "B...bo...ring..." Even still, he was trying to respond normally. His entire body was trembling. It wasn't going to be much longer until he lost consciousness at this rate. Slowly, his hand went lax. Breathing only came in strained, wheezing gasps with disturbing lengths of time between.

"That's it. We are at the flat... in your room, your bed. I'm kissing you, just as I am now... it's... beautiful... you're beautiful..." John kept himself in check, hard. "You're naked, beneath me... we're just enjoying each others skin, nothing more... light touches... soft kisses... unrushed..." He could see the shudder and anaerobic breathing, knew he'd have to act soon. "Can you see that, Sherlock?" He used his teeth to pull apart the biro, praying this worked. "Can you feel me, running my fingers through your hair? Over your body?"

It wasn't so much the words John was saying. It was his tone of voice. The soft, gentle way he was speaking felt like a warm comfort washing over him...and soon the words meant nothing at all because language escaped him. Only sound was left. Even that started to fade until he was past the point of comprehension. Even still, he could feel John there with him. He could see the flat, he could wrap himself up in the thought of John kissing him forever...until the stars winked out. Then they did in his mind's eye... and Sherlock was still.

John punctured Sherlock's lung, freeing the fluid and blood caught within... he knew his breathing was thready... John knew they had moments. He couldn't perform proper CPR, not without risking further damage. He laid close to Sherlock still speaking, blood and plasma coating him, feeling the breaths becoming less frequent. He pulled his phone out, waiting for the moment. He kissed every breath away, loving the man until he stopped. He texted Lestrade a thank you. Kissing Sherlock one last time he took his knife and sliced up his left arm, it was hard, but he knew he had been sure. They'd be together soon.

And so they were.

. . .

John woke up. There was no scream this time, just a sudden start and then the dark. Cold. Cold sheets, cold night. Dark...but there was no pain. There was no debris in the air, no smell of ash or soot. No...just the smell of laundry soap from the sheets on the bed and sweat from his own body. Sherlock was curled on the opposite side of the bed, having taken all the covers. It was the dead of night and for once, the detective had chosen to sleep there with him rather than walk the floors all night. The nightmare...who knew what the trigger could have been.

Rolling in towards Sherlock, he held the man close beyond sobbing; even as the empty ache dissipated he couldn't shake the coolness of his skin. He pulled the covers back over them both kissing Sherlock's neck holding him close. "Oh God... thank you..." He breathed into the curls even as they tickled his nose.

"Hmmm?" Not quite awake, Sherlock shifted into John, immediately seeking out the source of warmth like a cat and burrowing into it. This Sherlock, this very real Sherlock, was breathing steadily and deeply against John's forehead. A soft 'mmm..' noise and further shifting when John kissed his throat. "...what happened?" He asked, not even needing to be awake to understand that John was being awfully needy.

"Bomb... building collapse." He said between kisses. "You first, then me. We'd just... I just told you I loved you..." John ducked his head into the deeper curls at the back of Sherlock's hair.

"Was calm... kissed you... spoke with you until..." He softly sobbed now. "I'm ok... we're ok... I know."

"Are you?" Awake now, Sherlock squirmed until he was eye to eye with John, peppering a few soft kisses over his lips. "Because you know it's fine if you aren't. The subconscious, John, is a frightening thing." Long fingers ran up and down John's arm to try and ground him. Soothe him. "But we are..." he stole a proper kiss, pressing into it to drive the point home. "...fine. Alive. Here in bed, in the flat."

"Physically... Sherlock... emotionally I'm a wreck..." John moved to look at his arm, ran his hand along his forearm before moving his hands along Sherlock's torso, his left arm. John looked up into Sherlock's moonlit eyes before kissing him back in earnest. "I can just feel the overlay still... takes a moment..." John ducked his head into Sherlock's neck out of embarrassment and need. "Just need you... close. Here."

"You may have whatever you need." Wrapping an arm around John, he stretched a bit and let out a rough sigh. "I'm alive and I'm here. You can hear the sound of my voice...you can hear me breathing." Fingertips stroked along John's shoulder blade. "If you're very still, you'll hear my heart beating." And a kiss to John's head, gentle and sweet. "You are alive and here also. There's no bomb...no debris...and we are safe."

"Just talk to me, please..." He could feel Sherlock's heart, steady to his staccato. "This helps... is helping."

Sherlock all but wrapped himself around John as though he was sheltering him from the world. "There's no more need to fear...it's your head producing rubbish. It's like turning on a telly behind your eyes and finding nothing to watch." He kissed John's head again. "I can teach you to control your subconscious if you like, my dear John...or I can help you to forget such a nightmare." He rubbed his foot up and down John's calf.

"That's nice." John pressed himself into the embrace, nuzzling into the fine chest hair kissing above Sherlock's heart. "Both?" He chuckled brokenly.

"Perhaps we can settle with trying to give you good dreams, hmm?" Stretching again to bring himself to full wakefulness, he stroked the short, fine hairs at the back of John's neck and glanced down at him. "Tell me one thing you want me to do and I'll answer with exactly how."

"I want you inside me... more... until all I can breathe is you." He blushed at the verbal admission; they spoke of things, but not so plainly... well he hadn't. "That's what I want."

"Hmm," he uttered, almost a purr in his sleep rough voice. Briefly, he unwrapped himself from John. Back within three seconds, he flopped down with enough force to bounce the bed. "Well, then...first...first, I would have to get you on your back...like so." Pushing and tugging John this way and that, he finally got the man just as he wanted him on his back. "But no..." Sherlock knelt down low and spread John's legs, wider and wider. "More this way, yes? I may decide to be very close to you like this..." With John's legs spread just enough, Sherlock laid himself down over John, draped over him with his arms hooked under John's knees to position their groins together. "I like being close to you." His fingers tickled across John's legs. "Very much..." And his mouth found John's chest, kissing across it.

"Sherlock..." The name fell from his lips as he was spread, moved to the point of almost discomfort and wanton exposure. "Ohhh..." John gasped at the push and pull as Sherlock positioned him. "Please..."

Right, then. Sherlock understood the cues. This was not to be a languid session of lovemaking. While he found a nipple with his mouth, two clever fingers circled around John's opening. They were gone, then came back with something slick and cool, but not cold. Gently, he probed, rewetting his fingers three, four times before he thought it may have been enough. "No need to beg..." A kiss to the side of John's knee while Sherlock was slicking himself up. "Anything you need. I said that." Slowly, slowly, he was guiding himself inside. "Remember to breathe, John...nice and easy."

John breathed in deeply, bearing down against Sherlock needing more... knowing he had to not rush this part. "Pleasepleaseplease..." The word panted over and over as the press and slight burn caused his pulse to sing as he arched into the intrusion.

"Shh...yes...yes, just...aah..." Sherlock had to control both of them at once. Bit by bit. Push by push until he was fully sheathed inside of John, leaning over him and reaching to touch his face. "All right?"

"Yes..." John swallowed, an errant tear running down without his knowledge. "I can feel... it's so... god you are beautiful..."

Sherlock wiped it away with his thumb, his expression softening. Through all of their lovemaking and time together as a couple, he was never quite sure how to deal with high emotions like this. "No, John..." he rocked his hips just a little. "You are. The world would be so dim without you." Another rock of hips until he was slowly pulling back and pushing back in with a roll of his hips to hit the right angle.

John relaxed into the push and pull of them, where they met. "You're inside me... it's so much..." John met Sherlock's softened gaze as he moved his cheek along the fingers that were curled against his face. "I will never let you go..." He gasped into the slow controlled movements.

"I never want you to." Slow gradually became faster, the hand on John's face traveling down until it rested on his cock, giving it a good upward stroke and a worshipful caress. "And I..." a harder push. "...am not going to ever. Let you. Go anywhere."

Sherlock's hand encompassed him, the long musician's fingers holding him firmly but gentled as he worked John with the same rhythm. The practiced stroke would press John further towards him, towards now. Force him to be present. "Sherlock... this... it's..." John's breath was shallow and high as he caught Sherlock's hand on his hip to ground him.

"It's you and me, John," Sherlock panted out, giving him a wild smile. Joy. "You and me...and nothing can get in our way." Quickening his pace, he practically hefted up John's lower body to get the angle he wanted against John's prostate, stroking him with each thrust. "Nothing. You hear me? You're mine...and I'm yours."

"Y-Yes..." John stuttered as his breath was taken from him. "L-love... now... always..." His hips jumped as Sherlock changed, lifting him every other thrust stripping him open as the press was just there. "Fu- Sherlock!" John shuddered, his body on fire everywhere.

"Yes...I do love you. There you are. Right there..." Another kiss laid to John's thigh this time. "Come for me, John...let it go. I've got you."

"Ggnnaahh..." John shook his head to try and fight the build up, he wanted this for them both. He growled rolling into the deep thrusts eyes he locked his gaze onto Sherlock's wonderfully expressive face. "Please... please..."

Sherlock's composure was crumbling with the way John was rolling back into him. After a few moments more, he was reduced to animal instinct and driving into John like mad, sweat dripping from his forehead to land on John's stomach. More and more until the bed was rocking, the mattress squeaking. If the long moan he let out was any indication, he was just there. Right there...

John arched as his whole body tensed with the orgasm. He was crying out, riding and being fulfilled in fluid motions as he finally caught a breath and felt himself float, whiting out as he tipped into the freefall.

Sherlock was right there with him, collapsing over him as they both rode the wave of endorphins. In the end, Sherlock was left with no choice but to slowly, slowly pull out and messily drape himself over John, not caring that they would both be sticky come morning. Right now he just wanted to kiss John's sweaty collarbones and come down from the orgasm high.

"Sh-Sherlock... love..." John couldn't get a whole breath yet, but he wanted to thank him for this. For accepting and loving and needing him even if there were the nightmares and the layering that sometimes occurred. "Th-" He wrapped his arms tightly around him instead and kissed him slowly.

Sherlock squirmed up so that he could be right there, kissing as he was kissed and glad for it. Warm and content with no more, no less to focus on than John Watson. That was all he felt that he needed. "I love you," he murmured into John's mouth, having another kiss...and another.

"Love you...too." John accepted them his body fussing a bit as his pulse slower. "Thank you, Sherlock." He stretched underneath Sherlock then wrapped a leg around him as well still wanting him close.

"No need to thank me." Hooking his heel around the duvet, he kicked it up so that he could wrap them both in it, arms and legs going around John like a starfish.

The yawn caught John by surprise as he maneuvered into Sherlock's embrace. "Smart man. Useful too..." He chuckled warmly.

We're going back to sleep, then?" Sherlock was content to close his eyes and go back to sleep so long as he could keep John in his arms.

"Possible." John relaxed, smiled at Sherlock. "Have any other ideas?" He ran his hand lazily spelling words of love that were too precious for them to normally speak.

"Not that do not involve you and I in this bed." He was intent on not moving apparently.

"M-mnnn." John mumbled an affirmative sound. "Well, if that is they way we are going to be today..." His face softened full of emotion. "Sleep, at least rest. Love this, you against me... it's nice."

Sherlock yawned and nuzzled against John's neck. "Mmm..." He didn't need to be told twice to go back to sleep. Four days awake had really done a number.

"That's my brilliant detective; rest." The smile was small but heartfelt as John brought his hands to tangle into Sherlock's hair. "Sweet dreams."


End file.
